


Sorry Doesn't Cut It

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Character Death Fix, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Gore, Not for the squeamish, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic starts out with Avon being dead, along with various others of our heroes. But they get better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry Doesn't Cut It

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love Means Never Having To Say You’re Sorry](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/39016) by Nova. 



(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

The natives would have told Vila, but most of them had been chased off, killed, or retreated with the rebels to Cymri III.

'We don't bury the dead on Gauda Prime.'

But how was Vila to know? It was the decent thing to do, and Vila was always too sentimental for his own good.

***

The creature walked out of the forest after Vila left Avon's grave. It went naturally on two feet, but was covered in dull, yellowish-white fur, except for its face and belly which were bare, pink and wet-looking, like a peeled fruit. The belly was a thing of loose folds and flaps, grotesque, as were the almost human features. It had large cat-slitted eyes, a moist black nose with ever-quivering nostrils, and when it opened its mouth, three rows of teeth, ranging from shark-serrated to massive molars that looked capable of crushing rock, were exposed. The creature was nearly three meters tall.

And it stank, an indescribable musky odor.

It snuffled the air, then went to the disturbed earth and began digging. Its 'hands' were broad and tipped with thick claws, well suited to the task.

Vila hadn't dug very deep.

Avon's corpse was dragged out of the hole. The creature used its dirty talons to remove the clothing from the body and then it ate him.

It took its time, chewing deliberately, grinding away at bone and tendon, licking and sucking to capture leaking fluids. The belly expanded, and the creature groaned as if in pain. The cat-slitted eyes wept pale green tears, but it continued, until the last scrap of Kerr Avon, computer genius,arrogant sod, sweet lover, madman- all those things and more- disappeared.

Then the creature lay down, cradling its horribly distended stomach in both hands. It lay on the ground, moaning, all through the night.

In the morning, the huge thing stared sightlessly at the sky, cat-pupils glazed over, tongue bitten in two during its agonized death-throes.

The body began to move. Not as a living thing moves- this was internal motion. Something inside was pressing against the skin.

The struggle was brief, for the skin had dried and cracked open, splitting neatly down the middle, releasing the new-born, gasping, wild-eyed creature to fall, flailing, to the ripped up ground beside Kerr Avon's grave.

It was much smaller than the original creature, and pink, and completely hairless. It lay panting for several minutes before staggering to its feet.

It looked around, staring with equal astonishment at the disintegrating creature, the sunlight flickering through the trees, and its own nude form.

It.

He.

Kerr Avon, back from the dead.

"No," Avon said quietly. "It's impossible." He looked down at the smooth,sleek skin covering his belly and shuddered. "Did I dream it?" He pressed his hands over his eyes. "Have I gone mad?"

_No._

Avon whirled, trying to locate the source of the 'voice' in his head. "Cally? No, you're dead, too. I must be insane."

 _No._

The 'mind-voice' was not Cally's. It was deeper. Male. In fact... it sounded a lot like Kerr Avon.

"Now I know I am mad." Avon shook his head, dismissing it as unimportant. "I could climb one of those trees, and jump," he said, considering the height of the forest giants surrounding him.

_Did we not suffer enough when we died before?_

"We?" Avon debated for a moment the wisdom of talking to himself, then mentally shrugged and began comparing trees. It was difficult to tell from the ground which ones were high enough to do the job. Perhaps if he climbed one partway, he could find the tallest nearby one. Definitely nearby, he had no desire to wait for death again.

_We are two, and we are one._

Avon frowned. "Bad enough to be mad, without going mystical." He started to climb the nearest tree and discovered it was not an easy task, naked. He kept slipping down, with nothing more to show for it than abrasions against his unreasonably delicate skin. He gave up and began walking. There would be a cliff or a pond, a savage beast, or a cooperative bounty hunter. Something had been trying to kill him every day for years. It had been the one incontrovertible fact in his recent existence.

_That, and your love for Blake._

Avon stopped. Tree-sap seemed to have got into his eyes, and they were watering in reaction. He wished he had a sleeve to wipe them on. "Stop it," he muttered, and began walking faster. Where were the carnivorous plants and starving mutoids when you needed them?

_You are not mad. You are strong. You are clever._

Avon grinned humorlessly. "Fine, just what I need, a pep-talk from myself.What next?"

_Next, we make a bargain. I can give you what you want most if you will help me to free my planet from your people. They kill the trees, they rip the heart from the earth. We will all die if they do not leave. For that, I will see that you are happy for the rest of your life._

"Wonderful." Avon pushed aside a branch that was aiming at his crotch. "Now, I'm trying to bribe myself. With what, I ask, seeing that I am a naked lunatic." He glanced down at himself, and then lifted one hand and ran it over the smoothness of his skull. "A naked lunatic who has apparently fallen into a vat of depilatory." Avon was annoyed. He didn't need to look ridiculous on top of everything else.

_Blake._

"No." Avon shook his head again. "Stop it. He's dead. I killed him. I saw him dead. I waited until he had his burial among his beloved rebels to end myself, but I won't be mad enough to live with a phantom of Blake."

_A Blake as real as you are. You were dead. You know you were dead. I am in your mind, and I remember every moment of the dying._

"No. If I was dead, I would still be dead. I'm simply insane. I wonder when it happened." Avon smiled. "I would like to imagine it was before I shot Blake, but it's more logical that was the event that broke my mind. I suppose this could be dying delirium," he said hopefully.

_You are alive._

"And why should I believe you- me? I lied to myself quite frequently, when I was sane." It was often the only way to keep going and he should keep moving. There was nothing with reasonable suicide potential in the vicinity.

_I am not you. I am the being who died to give you birth._

Avon paused. "Biologically speaking, that would seem an unsound practice.Not to mention, overly generous of you."

_You will save my people. Many of us have died as I did, trying to create one who can help us._

"And you think you've succeeded?" Avon laughed. "I'm no hero. You ought to have 'created' Blake."

_That is what I offer you._

Avon's knees refused to lock, and he fell to the pine-needle strewn ground, clutching handfuls of resinous spears as he fought to deny the hope that sprang up at those words. "He's dead."

_You were dead._

Avon clenched his eyes shut so hard that the black behind them turned blood-red and replayed the scenes in the tracking gallery. The first was worse. When Avon...when Avon did the only thing he could do, he had been glad, because he wouldn't have to exist without Blake any longer. He hadn't expected anything more than pain, and nothingness, and that he had embraced wholeheartedly with the honesty he had denied Blake. All their encounters had been 'simply relieving sexual tension'. And Blake had smiled, and nodded, and refrained from kissing him, because that would speak too clearly of love, and he would not hurt Avon so.

But Avon would hurt him, would distrust him, and would finally blast him out of the universe he tried so hard to save.

There was no punishment great enough for that crime, and Avon had recognized that the debt would go unpaid, but he wanted to share how Blake had felt, physically.

And he did. He knew, vividly, what it was like to die gut-shot. He had lasted longer than Blake, and been conscious for most of it. If he had imagined all that, he had a more graphic imagination than he'd ever credited himself.

"Even if I believe every word, you're saying I'm a copy, no more human than a clone."

_And no less._

"And Avon and Blake are dead. Why bother bringing either of them back?" He grabbed a thorny bramble and held on as the blood welled up between his fingers. "And why have you cursed me with all _his_ memories?"

_You are what you remember. We need Kerr Avon. We need Roj Blake. Go back for him._

Avon asked, "How? How is it done?" without admitting, even to himself, that he had begun to believe simply because he wanted to believe against all logic.

 _I could share the memory with you._ The mind-voice sounded tentative. _But it could destroy you. Others have not been able to live with the memory._

"If you can convince me that there is a way of bringing even a reasonable facsimile of Blake back from the grave, I will do whatever you require of me, or die trying." He laughed. "Which, under the circumstances, apparently needn't release me from my obligations."

_I will share._

The memories came. Seeing Vila and following. Opening the grave. Removing what lay within. And...

Avon was sick for quite a long time, considering that this body had never eaten. Then he got up and let the thing within his mind guide him to water, and from there to a deserted farm, where he found dust-covered food packets and clothing that had been put away clean, with herbs scattered in the folds to preserve them. In repayment, Avon burned the remnants of the farm's owners. 

For Blake, Avon 'stood aside' and let the thing within call to its fellows and tell them what was planned, in a gutteral language that hurt his throat and his ears.

For Blake, Avon watched as Soolin and Tarrant were retrieved from the earth in the hastily made mass grave where Blake's rebels had committed the bodies, not daring to use their customary fire, for fear of registering on heat-sensors. He watched as they were devoured and reborn. He was mildly surprised that they believed him and were willing to follow him.

He was less surprised to discover how annoyed they both were at the loss of their hair.

***

It took over a month to return to Cymri III in the small, beat-up gunrunner that had been the first ship they were able to steal. Long enough to become numb to the smell of the creature who accompanied them and patiently sat in the cargo hold. Long enough to plan what they would do in all the possible circumstances Avon could devise.

Well, no. It was long enough they could argue about plans, but ultimately it came down to playing whatever cards they were dealt.

***

Graveyards are not popular places at night. Avon dug down to the box while Tarrant and Soolin stood watch. He was not the Avon who had killed this Blake, but he would not have this body clawed from the earth by a beast, however intelligent and nobly self-sacrificing, or even by someone who had never lov... never known Blake. He was forced to let Tarrant help him carry it, though.

They found an even more remote place to commit the unspeakable deed. Avon had ordered Tarrant and Soolin to leave before the coffin was opened. He hoped they obeyed out of respect, but pity seemed more likely.

It was worse, much worse, than watching Tarrant and Soolin being eaten. It was even worse than remembering having eaten himself. The passage of time had been cruel to Blake, even before the creature began dismembering him.

Avon watched all the way through and was there in the morning to help split the chrysalis and pull Blake out into the dawn.

Blake half lay against Avon, shivering as his wet body dried in a gentle breeze. Avon held him and tried to explain logically the illogical method of his ressurrection. He had his 'voice' speak to the other creature, asking it to be silent until Avon had explained. At least Blake should not think himself mad at hearing 'voices'. Blake finally turned his head and looked at Avon. He smiled.

"What amuses you?" Avon asked, tentatively. If Blake had emerged insane, what would Avon do?

"You." Blake reached out and cupped the back of Avon's skull in his hand, stroking the half-inch of hair, newly sprouted and even as a well-kept lawn. "Like velvet," he mused. "Perhaps you should keep it short."

Avon tried to look affronted, but found himself answering the smile. He leaned in close to Blake, letting the hand pull him until he was breathing against Blake's lips. "You oughtn't to throw stones." Avon put up both his hands and ran them over Blake's head. "Suede, perhaps. Ave, Caesar, shall I weave you a laurel wreath?"

"Have I won a victory, then?" Blake's eyes were solemn now. Without his customary leonine mane to soften it, the sorrow was too much for Avon, who pulled out of Blake's grip.

"Yes, well, you could call it that." Avon paced away, hands behind his back, while Blake watched. "We have clothing for you, but I am afraid that returning to the rebellion as yourself is out of the question. Too many people know..." He looked at Blake and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Too many people know that I murdered you."

Blake frowned. "Yes, I was meaning to discuss that with you. 'Friendly fire' incidents don't usually occur at arms' length. That is what it was, isn't it?"

Avon's eyes couldn't meet Blakes. "You know what it was. An act of sheer, unmitigated stupidity. I am... I deeply regret what happened."

"What you did."

"Yes. What I did."

Blake bit at a knuckle. "And you think that bringing me back from the dead will make up for killing me?"

Avon shook his head, slowly. "No."

"What then?"

"I... I thought that perhaps... perhaps you would set the price for me." He looked into Blake's eyes now.

"What if I said I despised you and I wanted you to go away forever?"

Avon flinched, minutely, just a flicker of his eyelids. "Do you?"

"No. Why haven't you said you're sorry?"

"I thought I did."

"Not in so many words."

Avon took a deep breath, but Blake said, "No. I won't have it pulled out of you." Blake sighed. "After all, it's not as if we were lovers."

Avon turned and went to the small pile of clothes he'd set aside for Blake. "No, it's not as if we were lovers." He held up a large shirt for Blake to see the loose, pirate-styling of the sleeves, and he tried to smile.

Blake got to his feet and pulled the shirt out of Avon's hands. "I was _your_ lover, though," Blake said. "I wanted you to know that." He began putting on the shirt, carelessly. He sounded very tired. "I suppose I could have my features rearranged as well as acquiring a new name." He touched his face, unblemished as a new-born's. "For a start, I've lost all my old scars." He laughed, and Avon flinched again. It was a bitter, cold, and despairing laugh. "I'll collect new ones, no doubt. You'll be leaving soon, I take it, now that you have repaid your debt?" He reached out, and Avon stared blindly, uncomprehendingly. "My trousers," Blake said, patiently.

"No."

"No, what?" Blake asked.

"No. I am not leaving you. Ever. No. I am not giving you your trousers. Not now." Avon unzipped the black coverall he was wearing, taking the single zipper all the way down to his crotch.

Blake looked at Avon's erection, and then up at the desperation in his eyes. "I'm not into mercy fucks, Avon. Not for either of us."

"I'm sorry."

Blake tilted his head. "Sorry doesn't cut it."

"It was what you asked."

"I was wrong. It's not enough. I won't turn down your assistance with the rebellion, but I can't go back to the way we were."

"I...I wish I could say what you need. But I can _be_ what you need." Avon fell to his knees in front of Blake, hands out in appeal.

Blake looked behind Avon, in the distance. "Avon, your people are watching you make a fool of yourself."

"They've seen it before."

Blake sighed and bent down to take Avon by the arms, and lift him to his feet. "Have they seen this?" And he clamped his mouth down on Avon's, kissing him so fiercely that Avon's whole body trembled.

Avon surged against Blake, and orgasmed. Shakily, he said, "No, they haven't seen that." He reached out to Blake, to that perfect silken chest, and touched the sticky evidence of his own loss of self-control. "I'm sorry."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Blake fastened up his shirt and reached past Avon for the trousers. He put them on, stuffing his own swollen cock in and sealing up the flies. "I don't want that from you. I want..." And Blake stood still, and his eyes went round with shock. "Avon," he whispered. "I hear it."

"Damn you, you promised," Avon protested to his 'voice'.

_But you did not make Blake promise to save my world. You should have done that._

"I needed more time!" Avon turned back to Blake.

Blake was staring at Avon. "You killed yourself." Tears welled in Blake's eyes. "How could you do that to me?"

"To you?" Avon was confused.

"I thought the Federation had killed you, or perhaps my own people had done it. How could you do that to me? How could you put your death on my head?"

"You're not making any sense. I _couldn't_ live once you were dead."

"Why not? Because you would be hunted by rebel and Federation alike? I'd expect you to take it as a challenge."

"No! I couldn't live without you because I love you!" Avon stopped, appalled, and turned his back on Blake.

"Do you really?"

"I'm not in the habit of lying to you."

Blake chuckled and came up close to nibble on Avon's neck. "Thank you. I had to hear it once. I suspected it all along, but just once I needed confirmation. All right then, let's go."

Avon sighed and leaned into Blake's embrace. "Oh, joy, back to the bombs, bullets, and bloodshed."

"And beds, Avon, don't forget beds."

"Yes, there is that." Avon turned a gave Blake a fleeting kiss, a mere brush of lips. "I'll never forget that."

***

When Vila came back from his drunken ramble in the woods, not even Deva would believe he'd seen ghosts.

Not, that is, until five years later, when the vid-proclamation returning Gauda Prime to its native inhabitants came through two days after the Federation fell, and he saw the bonded co-leaders of the Union of Independent and Dependant Planets of the Human and Allied Species League reading the document. Well, Avon read it, while Blake held his hand, and beamed. Tarrant and Soolin were beside them on the podium, also holding hands.

Vila stared at his 'ghosts' for all of half a minute, and then he shook his head and told Deva, "I told you, there's one thing I know, and that's spirits."

Deva didn't talk to Vila for a whole day.

**Author's Note:**

> Way back on an adult B7 mailing list, I happily accepted other author's challenges to 'HEX' (Happy Ending Expedite) their sad/downbeat/hopeless/death etc. fic.
> 
> This was a toughie because of the exceedingly definite Dead Dead, so Very Dead premise of the original story 'Love Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry' by Nova (just found that there's an online version of the zine in which NHTSYS appears. I've linked it as 'inspired by'.).
> 
> Because of the difficulty, I allowed myself the leeway of adding alien mysticism (various types of things I could only characterise as 'magic' were canonical, after all.) I did NOT however go to the 'it was only a dream' cheat. This story accepts what happened in Nova's story, and goes on from there.


End file.
